


Michael Magic-ed

by iamtheoneinthehole



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Ella Enchanted!AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-28
Updated: 2014-04-28
Packaged: 2018-01-21 02:48:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1534811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamtheoneinthehole/pseuds/iamtheoneinthehole
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The worst fucking part of this was that no one had ever even bothered to explain to Michael why he was the way he was...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Michael Magic-ed

**Author's Note:**

> This was based on a post by glackedandmullered about an Ella Enchanted AU- I really hope I wound up doing this the justice it deserves :) Enjoy!

The worst fucking part of this was that no one had ever even bothered to explain to Michael _why_ he was the way he was.

He’d gotten the impression, growing up, that his mother had known _something_ about that but… every goddamn time he’d ask, she’d fall quiet, look a little (or a lot) guilty and then tell him to go play with his brother, to distract himself somehow and… eventually, when she’d grown tired of doing that, she’d simply told him to stop asking. And both of them had known in that moment that it’d be the last time that question would ever escape his lips; because she’d ordered it and… well Michael was nothing if not obsessively, compulsively and fucking uncontrollably obedient.

It was almost like a goddamn curse really. Hell if this was a fairy tale and not real life, he’d have been halfway convinced that it actually _was…_ Because all it would take was a few direct words like ‘go sit in the corner and think about what you’ve done’ and his feet would just take over, dragging him against his will to the nearest corner as his mind literally forced him to thinking about every goddamn thing he’d ever done until someone in the know about this (so his parents or his brother really) would finally _finally_ realize what they’d done and allow him to leave it, to stop...

And it was nothing short of fucking terrifying at first when it’d kicked in, the feeling of having absolutely no fucking control over your own limbs, your voice, your movements, even your goddamn breathing sometimes… Because back when his brother had first found out about this thing, whatever the hell it was, he’d only been a kid, young enough that he hadn’t realized ordering Michael to hold his breath for ‘as long as possible’ would mean he’d literally hold it until he passed out… not until their mother had turned around to see him blue faced and shaking a little and had all but screamed at him to start breathing again.

Time had passed though and his brother had gradually grown up to realise the consequences of the dumb shit he’d used to make Michael do and… well after that he’d backed off. In fact, if anything, he was actually the one who’d made the most effort to avoid giving orders of any kind, writing down or texting stuff that could actually be construed as something his brother would have to obey if he heard it and… well maybe it was the residual guilt from the way he’d treated the situation as a kid but, whatever the reason, Michael was more than fucking grateful for it.

Especially since it wasn’t as if his parents extended him the same courtesy. Sure, they wouldn’t always do it, and definitely not in ways that would actually really, _physically_ , hurt him but… there’d be times when one of them wanted something done, wanted Michael to be a little quieter, for him to stop playing video games for a few hours and ‘be productive’ and… well those were the times where giving orders were just a little too tempting to resist.

He’d fucking hated them for it most of the time. They fucking _knew_ about his condition, better than anyone, better than even Michael himself did and yet they _still_ used it against him. His own goddamn parents and they fucking _used_ him.

And of course they weren’t the only people who’d ordered him about. Teachers would give orders at school all the goddamn time to ‘focus’ or ‘be quiet’ in class, causing him to immediately comply but… they’d just assumed it was because he was well behaved. They hadn’t known any better. But his parents had, even before Michael had realized it himself and… just the fucking betrayal in that, in that invasion of free will or privacy just for their own goddamned convenience had fucking _burned_.

The worst part order he’d ever been given by one of them though was after he’d started getting into fights because of his ‘kiss ass’ attitude in school. Because of course the other kids had seen him complying with the rules the moments they were set out, and down to the last goddamn detail, and hadn’t had a goddamn clue _why_ he was acting that way. All it’d taken was a few assholes with nothing but time and daddy issues on their hands and he’d wound up as the ever-convenient class punching bag.

And so he’d forced himself to toughen up, to the point where he was able to give as good as he got and the other kids were actually _finally_ starting to fucking _back off_ … well until of course his parents had ordered him to stop getting into fights. Then it’d been even fucking worse because Michael had known he was _capable_ of holding these kids back, blocking their punches and landing a few of his own but… they’d forbade him from fighting, leaving him trapped in a passive stance as these kids fucking pummelled him into the ground, without mercy, only to eventually back off once his brother had started to fight his battles for him.

Because if he’d had one ally in this, it was him. He was the one, after all, who’d ordered Michael to ignore his parents' wishes for him to go to college, telling him to _make his own goddamn decision for once_ and… well it’d been the first fucking order that Michael had actually _felt_ like obeying, willingly going against the grain and the orders his parents attempted to give as they’d started looking into further education. And he’d made his very first _real_ , personal choice in his whole goddamn life so far as he’d looked into electrician apprenticeships, and had wandered down a different route.

And all the way his brother had supported him, pointedly making sure that none of their parent’s negative opinions or attempted orders relating to the subject made it through the buffer he’d established between them as Michael finished up his training and began to actually work in the profession, the redhead taking up whatever jobs he could. And given his attention to the orders he was given, the inevitable detail he’d put into matching the standards his clients would set out, it hadn’t been long before he’d made enough of a name for himself to be hired on a fairly regular basis.

It hadn’t been until he’d had enough money to financially support himself in a small apartment somewhere that his brother had given him his one final order that he’d ever receive under his parents roof; _Get out_.

Of course it sounded harsh as fuck but... Michael had known what he’d meant, what his brother was trying to do for him, to combat his parents future orders that might force him to stay and he’d been _more_ than fucking happy to oblige his brother on that front.

He’d been out of their family home within the week, moving into an old, run down and, admittedly, kind of crappy apartment but hey, at least it was his. And once he’d gotten that set up, he’d found himself settling into his new lifestyle with ease, continuing his work as an electrician and really, seriously starting to play video games with the freedom his parents would never have allotted him back when he’d lived under their roof.

And things weren’t quite _good_ , never quite good when he still had to avoid phone calls with his parents in case they’d try to order him back but... they were still a hell of a lot _better_.

Of course living alone had posed its own issues.

Because he’d discovered pretty early on into the experience that, without the distraction of his parents or brother whenever the TV was running, infomercials and fucking ads were his worst enemies. Enjoy! Coca Cola. Eat fresh! Subway. Have it your way! Burger King. Just do it! Nike… by the time he’d checked out the Go Compare website for the fiftieth fucking time because of that goddamned opera singer, he’d gotten into the habit of muting the TV every time the ads came on…

But even then, there were the little things that caught him out, a ‘stay tuned’ or ‘don’t go anywhere’ at the end of some episode of something that Michael just so happened to be unfortunate enough to hear… he’d once wound up marathoning 6 straight hours of the fucking Young and Restless because of that. Needless to say, there were certain channels he didn’t dare flick over to most of the time anymore…

In fact, most of the time, he avoided the TV altogether, a rare exception to that being MLP simply because the ‘orders’ that show gave off were, essentially, harmless and… well it was nice to be able to watch _something_ without having to worry about shit like that.

Of course there were also the asshat sales companies who liked to ring him up with ‘exciting’ offers, telling him that he ‘didn’t want to miss out on this golden opportunity’ and… well there was a fucking reason he had a large stash of useless shit in the spare room of his flat and fucking caller ID at this point.

And then there was the stuff he’d already struggled with most of his life, like music. Of course, he’d been at least a little bit aware of that problem because of the infamous fifth birthday incident where Michael had been happy and known it only so long as he hadn’t realized that he wasn’t able to stop clapping… well until he’d panicked over it of course. Because he definitely hadn’t been fucking happy then.

He’d take uncontrollable applause though over some of the ‘incidents’ that’d happened _since_ he’d left home. Because happy clapping was fucking _nothing_ in comparison to the mortification of hearing a car blasting the lyrics ‘drop it like it’s hot’ in a public place and just fucking _knowing_ he was screwed. He’d actually had to ring his brother mid-twerk just to allow him to stop it and by then he’d amassed a crowd who’d, _of fucking course_ , wanted an ‘encore’... yeah, sometimes Michael Jones really fucking _hated_ his life...

There were some things he found refuge in though. He had the comfort of his own apartment, the knowledge that his brother had his back no matter what and, when things got _really_ crappy, video games and his shitty youtube videos to fall back on.

This wasn’t to say that video games didn’t pose their own issues. Gameplay dialogue acted just as effectively as an order in his mind and don’t even get him fucking _started_ on how crappy things had gotten the first time he’d tried to play a  co-op game with complete fucking strangers… But he’d learned pretty early on that it was only _spoken_ orders that he had to obey. And so he’d begun to resort to the game’s subtitles, finding that this method of game play actually worked a lot better for him since it helped him focus a little better on the actions required in the game itself. He’d also taken to muting other player’s bitching in co-op, drowning out their whining and trash talk as he focused on kicking ass, taking names and almost fucking deafening his opponents as he did his utmost to ensure he wouldn’t hear what anyone else, player or NPC, had to say on the matter, filling the silence with his bottled up ‘rage’.

And Michael Jones sure as hell wasn’t going to wind up with a shortage of _that_ anytime soon...

He’d probably been making the videos for a good few months, more as a mechanism to vent his frustrations over his fucked up situation than anything really, before he’d actually realized that his footage was actually starting to take off, becoming _successful,_ damn near viraleven… and the knowledge of that had been more than a little fucking surreal at first because who the hell wanted to listen to him yell at goddamn video games all day?

Apparently, several hundred thousand.

So of course he’d risen to the occasion, putting out more and more content to the point where he was uploading once a week and the name ‘Ragequit’ was becoming a well-known presence within the youtube gaming community. He’d sometimes peruse the comments section of the videos, smiling to himself at the funny messages, or messages of support and smirking a little to himself at the ones that’d probably be construed as orders if he actually heard them out loud… but they were written and Michael remained unaffected and, to this day, he was pretty damn sure that was why he’d initially enjoying trawling through the comments sections so often. Because he had a freedom there with his fans that he’d never be granted in ‘real life’.

Michael was coping though, and coping pretty goddamn well for that matter as far as he was concerned. The increased amount of content he was producing gave him a nice distraction from his problems, and as the output of that grew, so did his fan base to the point that Rooster teeth, an online gaming company and community that he’d actually admired for a while now, had actually scouted him out and offered him a job but…

The thought of being employed in a company, of being surrounded by people who could, inadvertent as it may be, order him around on a daily basis drove him away from the idea. And so he’d graciously declined and life had gone back to the way it’d been before, mostly anyway…

Until he’d met Ray Narvaez Jr in one of the Rooster teeth forums. The two of them had hit it off almost instantly over Rooster teeth, gaming and MLP and before Michael had even realized it he’d found himself gaining a friend. A _real_ friend. One who he actually trusted enough to let him in, to talk to over the phone and skype instead of just typing messages out because he was almost certain that the man wouldn’t order him about, wouldn’t abuse the power he didn’t even realize he had over the redhead, not like other people did. And, most of the time, the Puerto Rican really didn’t, or if he did the orders were harmless and nothing so life changing that the redhead actually had to worry about them…

There was only ever one order Ray had inadvertently given him that he’d actually consider an exception to that; when he’d told Michael to ‘give that damn job Rooster teeth offered you a chance already’. Obviously he’d had no fucking idea that, in saying that, he’d left the redhead with literally no goddamn choice in the matter, frustratingly so as this meant that Michael hadn’t been able to resent the man too much for it, even as he’d found himself on the phone with Burnie the next day, accepting the man’s gracious job offer and arriving in Austin just a week later to start work in the Rooster teeth office.

It’d been… well, a little fucking intimidating to say the least to suddenly be surrounded by all these new faces. His ‘condition’ had more or less forced Michael into a life of solitude, or at the very least into one of minimal communication with the outside world and for a while now he hadn’t really made an effort to connect with people outside of the jobs he worked and the handful of online bonds he’d formed because... fact was, a lot of people out there were assholes and the last thing Michael needed was to hear something like ‘get fucked’ and get arrested moments later for public indecency because he couldn’t fucking _help_ but take those words literally.

And so he’d been a little bit unsteady on his feet that first day at the office, nerves making him a little twitchy whenever someone wandered over to ask him something or introduce themselves but he couldn’t really help it. Trusting people, whenever the universe had screwed you this royally, was pretty goddamn hard. It’d taken a while for him to really open up to _Ray_ after all and he was the exception, not the fucking rule.

Still, the people he was now officially working for had seemed decent enough. And, as he’d started to settle into the company, he’d realized that the office actually had a pretty relaxed working atmosphere. People didn’t really give orders here, beyond the ‘try to get that edit on my desk by Monday’ or the occasional jokes that people would crack and that Michael would have to be quick to disguise that he was actually following to the letter.

It’d quickly become somewhat of a running joke in the office that Michael was halfway up Geoff’s ass when it came to kissing it, though Geoff and Jack hadn’t seemed to mind too much. In fact, if anything, they’d found it amusing and, as far as Michael could tell on the former’s part, also a little endearing. And in a strange way, that ‘hero worship’ worked pretty well within the dynamic they were establishing within the group as Gavin, a Brit who’d made his name within the company through directing a series of Red vs Blue, and Ray both signed up for Team Achievement Hunter, with Ryan providing editing and tech support, only to join them in their ‘Let’s Plays’ further down the line.

And it honestly hadn’t taken all that long before Michael had actually found himself actually fucking _grateful_ that Ray had talked him into (because that sure as hell was a nicer way of putting it than _forced_ … and Ray certainly didn’t know any different or he’d have long since revoked his ‘order’) taking this job because, in a strange way, he’d found a place for himself within the company, a place where he actually felt like he belonged.

Because Rooster teeth was kind of a company of misfits and assholes that’d come together to make something pretty fucking incredible really and… it was nice he guessed, to be a part of that, especially after cutting himself off from the rest of the world for so long now.

Of course, it wasn’t perfect. No job ever was. There were incidents involving lost footage and late nights and sore throats and Gavin being a dumbass, in that strangely fucking endearing way that only the Brit knew how… and then of course there were the _dares_. Because what Rooster teeth lacked in official orders, they _more_ than made up for in the shit they were willing to dare Michael to do, Gavin especially.

And with the way they’d always worded them, they’d been challenges that Michael had _quite literally_ been unable to refuse, not that he’d ever been the kind of guy to back down from a challenge anyway.

Some of them weren’t so bad. The chugging the barbecue sauce had been almost laughably easy in comparison to some of the dares he’d been given, plus he’d actually gotten some of Gavin’s hard earned money out of that one. And the saltine cracker one hadn’t been all that bad either… The lava cakes had been a little harder though, as had the cinnamon and don’t even get him fucking _started_ on that fucking gummy bear... it’d taken him a good week to actually forgive Gavin, Ray and Lindsay for that particular incident, for the way they’d fucking goaded him into eating way more than his stomach had actually been able to handle…

Because they hadn’t known and Michael needed to build a bridge and get the fuck over it already.

All the same, he hadn’t been able to even _look_ at those things without his stomach churning a little ever since, a little like Gavin with his wet bread he guessed in that respect… though he seriously doubted anyone had ever compelled the Brit each so much of it that he’d made himself violently sick. Then again, this _was_ Gavin and honestly, anything was fucking possible with that guy. It was one of the little things about him that’d encouraged the redhead to take a shine to him in the first place.

And eventually those dares had faded into the background as the novelty had finally worn off a little, his co-workers rapidly running out of new ideas to challenge Michael with to the point that they’d petered off into nothing, save the occasional bet made by Gavin. Which had, ultimately, left Michael with only one real problem as far as his ‘curse’ was concerned; the banter between him and his boys during the let’s plays.

Because let’s fucking face it, it’d never exactly been tame. They made dumb jokes all the time, subjects ranging from ‘Flynt Coal’ to ‘Mad King Ryan’ but sometimes their jokes would take on a more sinister edge and… Michael really didn’t like to think about how many times he’d had to remind that fucked up, ‘obedient’ little part of him that when his boys joked about killing one another, it was within the context of the fucking game they were playing.

Then of course there was the less sinister, but slightly more awkward, stuff… like that one time when Jack had told him to ‘go fuck himself’ and he’d literally had to bolt from the room before the need to give into that order had become too much, rushing himself into the nearest bathroom and wedging the door shut long enough to complete the ‘task’ the bearded man had unwittingly assigned him.

It wasn’t that he necessarily minded the idea of them watching him. He’d long since accepted that the men he worked with were attractive as fuck and, if the opportunity ever did arise, he probably wouldn’t mind getting one of _them_ to fuck him but, fact was, he had no goddamn idea how _they_ felt on the matter. Plus, even if he had… he absolutely fucking hated this drive of his; to obey, to serve, to be a nothing more than a glorified fucking slave. He fucking _despised_ the feeling of being so out of control, so fucking weak and vulnerable and fucking helpless. It was bad enough that people had seen him fucking twerking in public, the _last_ thing he wanted to share with the world against his will was this, this act that was meant to be fucking _intimate,_ private and above all things _his fucking choice_ to consent to.

And so he’d bolted from the room, returning a little later with his cheeks still a little flushed and feeling more than a little fucking sheepish as he’d mumbled some half-baked excuse about feeling a little ‘off’ after something he’d eaten earlier than day. He was pretty sure none of the man had believed him on that but… they sure as hell hadn’t managed to figure out what actually _had_ happened in there so they’d eventually let it go.

And then there’d been another incident just a few weeks later during another Let’s Play, where Michael had only just managed to mute his headphones in time to miss the end of what he was pretty sure would’ve been a ‘suck my knob’ from Gavin. And honestly, he’d been way too fucking close to hearing that because… well, that wasn’t exactly something he could flee from or explain away with a few bad, and pretty fucking unconvincing jokes at his own expense. Only problem was, when he’d looked up from unmuting them afterwards, it’d been to meet the Brit’s piercing gaze that seemed just a little bit _too_ knowing…

And Gavin’s seemingly idle comment just after they’d finished the video about another bet he might have in mind for Michael had all but confirmed his earlier suspicions. Because there was something in those words that revealed to him that somehow, and how that was Michael had _no_ fucking idea, Gavin knew. Gavin Free fucking _knew_ … and if that was the case? The redhead was definitely, well and truly _fucked_.

\----

The worst part about Gavin knowing was that the Brit never directly _confirmed_ that he knew, nor ever actually made any reference to whatever it was that Michael had… and yet he still knew, he _had_ to know, because he’d begun messing with the redhead during their Let’s Play recordings, pushing his limits.

During one of them he’d told Michael to stop mining and he’d _had_ to obey the fucker, to the point that there’d wound up being a good ten minute long chunk of footage that Lindsay hadn’t been able to use when she’d putting the video together later and Geoff had fucking torn him a new fucking asshole over it. He’d walked out of the office that day absolutely fucking _fuming_ with pent of frustrations because none of it had been his fucking fault dammit! And the next day, everyone had seemed to sense the fact that they should keep their distance from the redhead, giving him a wide berth as he’d recorded his ragequit, perhaps yelling just a tad louder than usual when he’d heard Gavin outside the Achievement Hunter office…

Only to be forced into hushed tones moments later when Gavin had told him to keep it down because Burnie was trying to have a meeting… and with the smug fucking grin on that fucker’s face, he _had_ to know what he was doing here, that he’d fucking ruined Michael’s footage and _fuck_ the idiot was lucky he liked him… or _had_ anyway before he’d started pulling this shit.

Because having the Brit target him like this? It made him feel fucking _violated_. Like Gavin was just using him for his own sick amusement and… he knew, of course he did, that the Brit didn’t realize the consequences of what he was doing, couldn’t have because while the man was many things, a genuine asshole definitely wasn’t one of them. That didn’t stop him from feeling fucking dirty whenever Gavin ordered him around, used, _betrayed_ … even when it was just for the little things like a little more ‘Team Nice Dynamite’ action in Let’s Plays. Because in all of this he was just Gavin’s fucking puppet, his fucking toy and… suddenly Michael felt like he was back in his childhood home, subject to the whims of the people who were supposed to care for him the most out of everyone…

He’d been a little embarrassed, but not at all surprised really, when he’d finally snapped at the Brit one day, telling him to go fuck himself after the Brit had essentially, with a few carefully placed orders, completely fucking ruined Michael’s chances of winning or really even fucking competing the Let’s Play they’d been filming. He’d stormed out, hands shaking a little as he’d rushed to the nearest bathroom (which had rapidly become his ‘safe’ space whenever dealing with his little ‘quirk’ got to be a little too much within the Achievement Hunter office) and slid down one of the walls to rest his head against his knees.

It’d only been after a hand on his shoulder had startled him out of the weird sort of trance like state he’d slipped into that he’d actually realized his eyes were a little wet… and it’d taken a good few more minutes after that for him to register exactly _who_ that hand belonged to, his body tensing up a little on instinct in response to the Brit’s presence as he’d waited for the inevitable smirk, the comment his fucked up instincts would interpret not just as an order, but a binding contract…

Instead he’d felt the Brit’s hands shift to cup his face, tilting the redhead’s gaze to meet his. And as he’d met Gavin’s gaze, he’d been amazed to find nothing but a surface remorse underpinned by a deeper guilt and regret and suddenly Michael had gotten the impression that the Brit _finally_ understood what he’d been putting the redhead through, that he’d fucking _finally_ stop… and he had.

In fact, if anything, the Brit had been quick to take up a mantle on the other side of the fence as he began to snap at any and all who, inadvertently or not, managed to order Michael around. And, again, he got the impression that a huge part of Gavin’s motivations here stemmed from the man’s own guilt about how he’d treated the situation but… all the same, he appreciated it.

Because it’d been far too long since he’d had someone in the know like this, let alone in his fucking corner. Of course, he still had his brother but… they both had lives of their own now and Michael had always known he wouldn’t be able to rely on him forever to get by, even if he _was_ blood. But Gavin? Well the Brit seemed absolutely fucking _adamant_ about taking care of his ‘boi’ and… well Michael definitely wasn’t about to raise any issues about _that_ anytime soon.

He’d found himself gradually forgiving Gavin for what he’d initially done, little by little as the Brit had continued to have his back, covering for him when one of the men’s more racy comments meant that Michael had to go and ‘take care’ of things and actually giving the redhead someone talk to about… well, whatever the fuck this was.

And the latter of those was a definite fucking novelty because even his family had never bothered to do that for him. He’d never really resented his brother for that though, the two of them simply having never shared a ‘touchy feely’ sort of brotherly bond. His parents though… they should’ve been there for him, far more than either of them ever fucking were. But Gavin was here now and the Brit was actually a surprisingly good listener once you got past the ‘loveable dumbass’ persona he liked to ham up for the fan base.

It hadn’t been too long until he’d had a bond with the Brit that almost rivalled his and Ray’s and yet… something about it had been _different_ somehow. Because there was a growingly charged sort of energy between them now, a tension that Michael couldn’t quite put his finger on though, by the looks of it, Gavin was one step ahead of him for once, given the way the Brit had started to squirm a little more frequently in his presence, his cheeks just the faintest hue of pink and… _oh. Gavin fucking_ liked _him… That actually explained a lot._

And the Brit must’ve realized it a while back now, Michael realized, he’d just been waiting for the redhead to make a choice or a move… and the fact that he’d gone to these kinds of pains not to influence the decision had made it one of the fucking easiest choices he’d ever fucking made in his life.

\----

Somehow by the end of the first week since they’d started dating, though neither of them were calling it that just yet since it was still early days, the fact that ‘Mavin’ was ‘canon’ had gone viral.

According to Lindsay, they’d temporarily trended ‘Mavin’ on twitter and had actually fucking _crashed_ tumblr. And she’d teased him that he and Gav _had_ to do something considering that, for the fans… of course she hadn’t known the implications of her words but for once, Michael hadn’t really minded obeying that inherent driving force within him as he’d pulled the Brit into a kiss in the middle of the office, receiving a good few catcalls as Lindsay snapped some pics. And then some wiseass had made a comment about him and Gavin ‘getting a room’ and the redhead had been only _too_ happy to oblige.

Of course, it wasn’t all fucking unicorns and rainbows.

Because the other men’s comments had gotten a little more frequently ‘problematic’ during Let’s Plays, Michael having to excuse himself more often meanwhile his boyfriend silently fumed and… well, if the redhead hadn’t known any better he’d almost have assumed they were fucking _jealous_.

But he _had_ known better and knew better that to push his goddamn luck, especially when he already had Gavin who was definitely _far_ more than a fucking freak like him deserved.

The way the Brit was with him though made it easy to forget that sometimes. Because, when he wanted to be, Gavin could be this safe haven, radiating warmth and positive energy as he’d wind Michael in his arms after a long day, or gently massage his fingers across his scalp if he looked a little too worn down while working on some edit due that day. Sometimes he’d catch Michael’s hand under the desk while neither of them were being particularly productive. Sometimes he’d forgo the hand holding entirely, moving instead to settle himself in the redhead’s lap as he pulled him into a kiss that was long and deep enough that it had the other men they worked with coughing awkwardly and looking anywhere but them.

Yeah, if Michael didn’t know better, he’d _definitely_ say they were fucking jealous.

And it was one of those days, one of those crappy days that Gavin was somehow managing to salvage with his presence and his smile and that _thing_ he did with his fucking tongue that was driving him half _insane_ right now, that Geoff had something about how they really needed to ‘stop acting like goddamn teenagers’ in the office and… just like that, the comfort of those little pdas he’d shared with the Brit over the last few weeks was ripped like a fucking rug from underneath him as he jolted back. And Gavin had murmured something about him ignoring what the gent had said but… the damage had already been fucking done now and Michael honestly felt like fucking _screaming._

Of course Ryan had been the one to notice something more than a little off in the situation. The man wasn’t exactly an idiot after all and had probably had some kind of suspicions about him for a while now. But now both his curiosity and concern seemed to be piqued and Michael fucking knew the man wouldn’t rest until he had _some_ kind of explanation here…

He’d wanted to usher the man out of the room, tried to send some kind of silent plea with his eyes not to say anything to bring any suspicions to the other men’s attention but apparently in vain because moments later and Ryan was asking one simple question that’d sent any chances of _not_ telling the other men in the room about whatever it was he had crashing to the ground, “Why?”

It hadn’t been an order, just simple curiosity and perhaps it was that which caused him to answer it honestly… well that combined with the knowledge that Geoff would probably demand an explanation of some kind moments later if he didn’t and really if he was going to have to tell them about this anyway, he’d rather it’d be on his own terms.

And so he’d sat there and explained himself, Gavin’s hand finding his as the Brit anchored him a little, a comforting warmth against the redhead’s side as he’d explained to the other men about his situation and he fucking _knew_ the exact moment the implications of what they’d inadvertently put them through hit home.

Ray had fallen quiet, his skin paler than usual as he’d levelled the redhead with a stare that seemed to plea for some kind of forgiveness, even if the man wasn’t _quite_ sure how to phrase it.

Jack looked fucking _agonized_ from where he stood, clearly running up a mental tally of the things he’d inadvertently ordered Michael to do and definitely not liking the results he was receiving there.

Ryan had actually seemed for a moment as if he’d wanted to hit something. But, after a closer look at the man’s expression, the redhead had realized he knew that face. He’d seen it countless times in his younger years, back when he’d been picked on and had secretly believed himself to be the ‘fucking freak’ they’d always painted him as. It was a face of pure self-loathing and… to see it on the ‘Mad King’s’ features just felt fucking _wrong._

And Geoff? He hadn’t even been able to fucking _speak_ at first, the weight of the revelation clearly weighing down his vocal chords for a good few moments as sad, horrified and so fucking full of guilt eyes had held his. And then a shaky voice had finally murmured, “Fuck… we’re so fucking sorry Michael.”

It was as if Geoff’s words had broken some sort of invisible barrier between them because moments later and the air was a litany of murmured apologies and the men themselves a mass of warm, comforting hugs and honestly Michael had felt fucking _drained_ after telling them all at once like that so he’d all but fucking _sunk_ into those embraces. And perhaps it was result of the relief that the truth was finally, _fucking finally,_ not a secret but that night, curled into Gavin’s side and idly dreaming of the Brit alongside the other four men he still, sometimes, like to consider as _his._

\----

Michael was _so fucking_ _done_ with the way the men he worked with constantly seemed to walk on fucking eggshells around him all the damn time now.

At first of course he’d appreciated it. Having the truth out there in the open like that, and knowing for a fact that the men he worked with both respected and cared enough to actually look out for him and take risks in cementing a strong sort of bond between each of them and Michael, in a way that only his brother, Gavin and, arguably, Ray had ever really bothered with in the past… And so needless to say, it felt pretty fucking incredible to know that these men cared this much about him but… It’d rapidly gotten to the point where the men were gradually a lot quieter in Let’s Plays, with the exception of the redhead himself, because god fucking forbid they say something that Michael might misinterpret, something Burnie was _already_ starting to kick their asses about.

And then there was that sudden surge of conflicted emotions he suddenly found himself feeling towards these men to contend with. The same conflicted emotions he was pretty damn sure he remembered feeling just before he’d first begun to fall in love with the Brit. Butterflies in the stomach, slightly too sweaty palms… basically he’d become a walking fucking cliché. And now here he was, back in the same goddamned shoes he’d been trapped in before as he’d tried to clue the other men into what he was feeling, or at the very least attempt bridge the bordering on fucking ridiculous gulf that suddenly seemed to stretch out between him and his boys...

In the end, it’d been Kdin who’d initiated the final demolition of that barrier, half screaming at them to ‘just fucking kiss you morons, I don’t get paid enough to put up with your bullshit.’

Sure, the man had inadvertently fanned the flames a little there in doing so because now when the redhead had kissed the other men for the first time, it’d been under the influence of obeying his ‘orders’... However, a long and pretty fucking painful conversation about feelings later and they’d managed to clear up the matter.

Long story short; Michael liked them, they liked Michael, they all also liked Gavin who liked them. The redhead had somehow managed to find up with the luck to find himself a group of men who not only all wanted to be with him, but his each other and like _fuck_ was he going to let that opportunity slip away from them.

So he’d given them an order, one simple order for his boys to obey; give this relationship a chance… and they had.

\----

Things had improved pretty fucking dramatically after that.

Of course not to the point where they were perfect but, even in his wildest most naively childlike dreams, he’d never imagined ever for a second that they actually would be. Because even when he’d just been a little kid, Michael Jones was pretty goddamn sure that ‘perfection’ was a pretty fucking impossible state for him to maintain, even if someone had given the order.

What they had though was pretty damned close though.

Because Michael honestly couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt this safe and warm in somebody’s arms, let alone five different pairs of them. He didn’t let people often after all and would still sometimes get a little paranoid about the please he’d actually _chosen_ to let in. At the end of the day though, he honestly couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this fucking happy and… well, that had to count for something right?

Of course the only problem with feeling safe and warm and loved was that it almost created an unshakable wall of safety or at least… it gave the impression of one.

Perhaps it was because he and his boys had gradually grown a little more lax about what they say but ‘fucking kill yourself’ and… well, all it didn’t exactly take a genius to figure out why, hours later, sat was sat there with a fucking _knife,_ tracing the blade across his skin in patterns that kept growing progressively deeper, sharper… and, as usual, he couldn’t fucking control it…

And then he’d had this strange moment of clarity as the blade has sliced just inches away from an artery, his eyes shooting up to meet his own gaze in the mirror in front of him, blazing with a grim sort of determination as he’d finally tried to do the one thing he should’ve fucking tried years ago.

“You are Michael fucking Jones and you are not going to take other people’s fucking orders anymore. Just drop the goddamn fucking razor!” And suddenly there was this strange sensation coursing through him, almost as if a burden had been lifted from his shoulders, the rigid tension leaving his arms moments later as the razor clattered to the floor. And Michael followed it moments later, a mixture of hazy blood loss and a heady sort of relief punching him straight through the gut.

The last thing he heard before he closed his eyes was Geoff screaming for someone to ring an ambulance and for the first time in his goddamn life, it was an order he didn’t feel even the slightest urge to obey. He was pretty damn sure he slipped into unconsciousness with a relieved smile on his lips.

\----

“Michael?” He’d blinked himself awake in a gradual growing awareness as bursts of light and sound began to dance across his eyelids, flood against his eardrums. It’d taken a good few moments though for him to actually respond to the sound of his own name as his eyes and ears had ever so gradually adjusted to their surroundings, the redhead trying to shift a little in the unfamiliar bed he was in moments later to face the source of the voice… only to let out a low hiss of pain moments later as the movement jolted one of the IVs in his arm a little.

Distracted as he was by the pain, he’d only vaguely registered the sound of someone murmuring about getting a nurse later because goddammit couldn’t they have a few moments alone with their fucking boyfriend first… And so it’d taken the redhead a good few moments more before he’d registered his own response to the words or… a _lack_ of response even. Because Michael hadn’t felt that familiar drive to obey not even a little bit and…

He barely dared to get his hopes up, not wanting to face the inevitable disappointment if he was wrong about this but… what if?

It’d been Jack who’d finally managed to pull Michael out of his own head, the man’s voice slightly rough with an obvious lack of sleep as he’d told the redhead, in no uncertain terms, was he _ever_ to do anything like that to them again… And this time he was almost certain about it. Because other than a strong rush of affection and warmth for the man stood in front of him, he hadn’t felt a goddamned thing.

And before he’d even realized it he’d been grinning widely at the man, silently nodding as actual words escaped him and he was pretty damn sure his cheeks were a little wetter than they’d been before but he didn’t fucking _care_ because for the first time in his whole goddamn fucked up existence, _he_ was the one who’d given himself the power to make his own fucking choices.

_If this had been a curse, he was finally fucking free..._

Moments later, as five pairs of arms had engulfed his body, their warmth seeping in through the flimsy material of his hospital gown, he couldn’t help but muse that he’d been absolutely fucking wrong to write off the possibility of a moment of perfection in his own life. Because even on several drips, with tubes everywhere and his head still a little fuzzy. Even with some of his boyfriends handling him like he might just shatter at any given second. Even with that annoying and pretty fucking constant beep beep beep of the life support to the point that it was practically ringing in his goddamn ears… This moment was still fucking _perfect_.

Or if it wasn’t, Michael would still say it was pretty goddamn close.


End file.
